


A Mind is a Terrible Thing to Waste

by ColorInPlatinum



Series: Apt Punishment [1]
Category: RWBY
Genre: Psychological Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-10
Updated: 2017-03-10
Packaged: 2018-10-02 09:38:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10214777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ColorInPlatinum/pseuds/ColorInPlatinum
Summary: watts experiences salem's wrath firsthand.





	

Failure is met with apt punishment. That is how it's always been. When a child breaks the rules, they're spanked or grounded or they get a lengthy lecture from their parents before having their scroll taken for a week. Though Arthur hardly considers Salem to be his mother, it makes perfect sense that similar rules would be applied.

For years, it was just the two of them. She would send him out on little missions or errands here and there. Nothing much: hack the Atlesian data library, encrypt communications between scrolls with a customized serial number programmed into them, hunt down spies and double-crossers, and train train train. The days ended with a status report and a shared pot of tea as they sat by the enormous window in her chambers, watching the creatures outside pull themselves from the oozing black womb of the broken earth.

Arthur grew up with distant parents, so when Tyrian arrived and began to occupy more of Salem's time, he hardly complained. Tyrian was young, barely older than twelve. Arthur didn't consider Salem a mother, but he often heard the young faunus refer to her as such, even in her presence. Salem would hold the boy, cradle him, tie his hair up in curious ways. Arthur found himself jealous, though not of the affection itself. He wanted Salem's praises again.

For years before Tyrian's arrival, Salem called the young doctor special. To her, he was a diamond in the rough, a jewel amongst pebbles. His mind was sharper than a diamond saw and just as sturdy, and she complimented him on it nearly every day. Successes were met with high praise, and failures (rare though they were) were met with assurances that tomorrow would bring better results. But it seemed that Tyrian could do no wrong.

The boy's fighting style was sloppy and ill-mannered. He would tear through grimm with glee, soak his clothing in blackened blood, and push himself so far that his aura could hardly heal a paper cut. Watts was precise, perfect, and utterly flawless. Tyrian would trip over his tail and throw a tantrum when he lost a fight. Salem would cradle the boy in her arms, allow him to use her aura to heal, and then carry him off to his room, calling him pet names and telling him how wonderfully he did.

Arthur hated it.

He knew that Tyrian was just a phase. He was loyal and obedient, and Salem loved having a pet that would never object. When Tyrian grew older, when he started thinking, he would see that, while their path was set, it was not a righteous one. He'd get scared and run off.

But that never happened. Tyrian's loyalty only grew as he did and eventually, Watts was turned from an advisor into a codemonkey. He didn't think it could get worse.

And then Cinder arrived.

Another child taken in by Salem, Cinder was thin and frail and sick. Arthur could count her ribs and when she ate her first meal with her new family, she nearly threw up from gorging herself. Watts pried her story from the girl and found out that her family had abused her horribly. Watts felt a bit less bitter about letting her take up more of Salem's time, but human nature kept him jealous.

As Salem began to abandon Tyrian as well, Watts found himself becoming angry. He was the first, she should care more for him than anyone. Cinder should receive more attention because of her maiden training, yes, but care is a completely different thing. Tyrian never became angry, only groveled at Salem's feet like the insect he was and still is. Watts was disgusted that he ever envied the boy.

Biting words, something Watts was known for even before being taken in by Salem, turned into hurtful ones. Cinder's skin wasn't tough yet; she'd often leave the room trying to hide tears or attempt to quash Watts' words with angrier ones. His calmness only made her more upset. Salem warned him to be kinder to Cinder, as she was their first maiden. It never slowed Watts down.

He should have expected it when she called him into the throne room in the dead of night.

"A mind is a terrible thing to waste, Doctor Watts," she said.

"I--m'lady, I beg your pardon?" he questioned, clearly confused by her strange greeting.

"You are an academic genius, an inventor, engineer, doctor, and psychologist. I'd even go so far as to consider you 'street smart.' Yet here you are, wasting your talents on childish bickering and petty bullying."

Watts felt his shoulders fall. She wasn't happy. He knew what happened when she wasn't happy. He stitched Tyrian's chest closed himself, after all.

"I apologize, m'lady. I can assure you I will cease to tease young Cinder--"

"Except!" she interrupts. "You have promised me this before. Why should I believe you?"

This time, Watts' blood ran cold. He'd been hit by her before; they all had. Insolence required a smack along the cheek or a scratch upon the arm. He could handle that. But this felt terrifyingly different.

Salem cocked a brow when he couldn't find the words to answer her and gestured to a chair she had placed in the center of the room. Watts felt like a boy again, awaiting a scolding from his father, but he knew he would face worse than mere words.

Arthur seated himself and straightened his back, trying to pretend that his skin hadn't turned a shade paler from the sheer dread of the situation. Salem approached him with a frown and cupped his chin in her cold hand, black claws digging into earthen skin.

"Will this happen again?" she asked.

"No--" He can't finish. It felt like her cold hands sank into the flesh of his brain, sharp nails plucking at nerves and severing memories. He finds visions of his life flashing before him, watches them change and morph and become nightmarish. His mother gives him an hourglass filled with Dust for his birthday. It explodes in his hands and scars her. She says she hates him. His father congratulates Arthur on his piano recital. Arthur tells him to shut up. His father cries. Arthur accidentally pushes a girl down on the playground. She breaks her arm and you can see bone. Arthur can't stop laughing.

It's all his fault.

By the time she finished toying with his memories, Arthur realized he'd been screaming. He slumped over in the chair as her hand left his skin, and he felt tears pouring from his chin in fat globs. His mouth was dry, his voice was gone. He knew everyone in the fortress had heard, but none would dare to enter.

"Will this happen again?" she repeated. He couldn't answer; his words came out as a harsh whisper, incoherent even to her inhuman ears.

Her claws sank into his mind once more, but she didn't touch him. Watts looked about him and saw--Tyrian. Dead. His chest peeled open where scars were meant to be. Watts hands were covered in drying purple blood. Tyrian, barely fourteen, looked over with dead eyes and reached toward the doctor.

"You didn't help me," he rasped. "I came to you for help... and you let me die."

"No..." Watts whispered. "I t-tried--you're alive--you're alive!"

Her hands left his mind again, and this time he's on the floor. He could hardly breathe thanks to his throat, and every gulp of air tasted bitter.

"Will this happen again?"

"N--o--"

She snapped her fingers. Watts could hear the clicking sounds of the Seer growing nearer. Burning cold tendrils wrapped around his ankles, and out of instinct, Watts sank his fingernails into the floor in an attempt to save himself. With a single decisive tug, the doctor's nails snapped, and the thing dragged him into the shadows.

* * *

He woke in his office.

Despite the night's events, Arthur's brain went into overdrive trying to process what could have happened in the last twelve hours. Logic told him that it was a night terror, which weren't uncommon among he and his associates. Tyrian had them frequently, and Cinder would often wake up screaming. The doctor decided that had to be it, and moved to his medicine cabinet to take a few pills in order to lessen his headache.

In the reflection on the glass door, however, Watts noticed his nose was bleeding rather profusely. He quickly opened the cabinet and grabbed a handful of gauze to press against the wound--and then he felt dried blood trailing down his cheek, the source being within his ear. Fear mounting, the doctor nearly tripped over himself trying to run into the bathroom to get a better look at himself.

Though his skin should have been the color of fresh clay, it was an ashen grey, blue veins visible beneath it. His eyes were ringed with bags and bruises, and the emerald irises themselves were sunken in a pool of blood-red sclera. Blood covered his mouth, still dripping from his nose, and the sides of his face were stained red from the rivulets of blood that thankfully stopped pouring from his ears a while ago. He blinked and his eyes turned red.

By the time she finished toying with his memories, Arthur realized he'd been screaming. He slumped over in the chair as her hand left his skin, and he felt tears pouring from his chin in fat globs. His mouth was dry, his voice was gone. He knew everyone in the fortress had heard, but none would dare to enter.

"Will this happen again?" she asked.

Arthur didn't know how to respond. His nose was bleeding. His ears were ringing. He felt like he would throw up.

"Arthur," she whispers. "never forget: _**a mind is a terrible thing to waste**_."


End file.
